


give my longing a name

by hedwag



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Explicit Language, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Pining, Post-High School, Pre-Time Skip, Time Skips, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:15:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28746789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hedwag/pseuds/hedwag
Summary: “Yer such a messy eater.” Osamu snarks as the other boy draws closer. Suna smothers a laugh against his shoulder, peeking at the video Osamu is showing him on his phone. His smell rushes in, boyish and sweet, and Osamu exhales shakily, ignoring the gnawing hunger growing in the pit of his stomach.“Yea, yea. Kaa-san always complains about it.”In which Osamu falls in love once, twice, and spends years trying to satiate his appetite.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 8
Kudos: 60





	give my longing a name

Osamu is young the first time he falls in love. Too young, but Osamu knows when the food breaks apart in his mouth, when salted rice and salmon touches his tongue that the feeling bubbling up in his tummy was more than happiness.

“Osamu, you’re humming. You like it, baby?” Osamu looks up at his mother, grinning down at him with sparkling dark eyes. He swallows and takes another bite, larger this time.

“It‘s good, kaa-san.” He mumbles around his mouthful. His mother's smile softens.

“Want to help me make another one?” Stuffing the rest of the onigiri in his mouth quickly, Osamu nods vigorously at the same time they both hear a crash. She whips around towards the entrance of the kitchen, and Osamu finds himself staring at her hands, wet and sticky with grains of rice caught between her fingers. He finds that there is something else lingering on his tongue besides the taste of rice and salmon.

“Atsumu, what was that!?”

It’s only when he gets older that he’ll recognize that feeling as yearning.

Sometimes, Osamu finds himself hungry for that same feeling when the ball first touches his hands, fingers, arms. That feeling of kaleidoscope bubbles bursting in his stomach, something warm and heavy like hot tea settling beneath his skin, and that strange taste lingering in his mouth.

It doesn’t.

Instead, it’s just the pure excitement and love that always comes with seeing Atsumu grinning at him with all of his teeth. The same feeling that comes with being with Atsumu, and learning with Atsumu.

Osamu eats that up too.

“You’ll help yer tou-san make the katsu curry tonight, Osamu? I have to run back to work-”

“Hai, hai. I’ll make sure it‘s good.” Osamu nods vigorously, gut warm and heavy as he watches his mother slip her shoes on in the genkan. A soft kiss is pressed to his forehead, and Atsumu, with a shout, throws his way between them for one too.

“I’ll help too, kaa-san!”

Osamu is fifteen, and he’s ducking the swing of his brother’s arm as he munches on the bento he prepared for the both of them.

“Stop eating all the tamagoyaki, ya scrub!” Osamu lifts a brow, chewing slowly. Atsumu's glares and Osamu hums thoughtfully before he swallows exaggeratedly just to see his brother’s eyebrow twitch.

“Yer gonna have to be quicker, ‘Tsumu” Atsumu swipes the last piece with a huff, chewing aggressively, and Osamu hides his smile with a cherry tomato.

Atsumu starts to chatter about volleyball, like he always does, and Osamu pays the barest amount of attention, thoughts floating to whether their mother is going to want them to pick up something for dinner tonight. He thinks he remembers her mentioning possibly making omurice.

“Aran-kun mentioned that Inarizaki actually recruited someone-”

He loves omurice as much as the next person, but maybe he can convince her to try this new recipe he found online the other day.

“Yer karaage tastes like shit.” Osamu whips his head towards his brother, ire blazing and brows furrowed until he sees the mulish look on Atsumu’s face. Mouth and head full of food, Osamu grimaces.

“What did I just say, ‘Samu?” Atsumu growls out, a piece of lettuce stuck in his teeth. Face carefully blank, Osamu purses his lips, eyes darting away to escape his brother's darkening face. He makes eye-contact with pale yellow eyes. Blinking slow and lazy, the boy makes no attempt to look away with his elbow on the desk and his head resting against the palm of his hand as he munches on a clearly store brought onigiri.

Osamu grimaces again. The corner of the boy’s mouth twitches up, lips thin and sly even as they open to take another bite. Osamu watches the bow of his lip, charmed by the piece of rice stuck there, even as Atsumu shouts in his ear.

“ ‘Samu!” Atsumu screams, and Osamu snaps awake with a jolt. He blinks, dazed, and he flings the blanket off and leaps. Atsumu lets out a noise both high pitched and mocking even as his face smashes into the ground. The next moments are painful and vicious as Osamu enacts his revenge, his brother’s cackling springing through the air.

“The fuck’s wrong with ya, ‘Tsumu?!” Osamu gasps as an elbow slams into his stomach without mercy. Atsumu grins against the palm of his hand, legs kicking and arms flailing. Their door slams open, and their mother stands there in all her glory, ladle in hand and shoulders up to her ears.

“Yer gonna be late! Stop horsing around and get moving!” She rushes in and swats at them both until they separate, ducking and dodging the swats as they head towards the bathroom together.

Osamu glares at his brother through their bathroom mirror, the minty taste of their toothpaste in his mouth as he brushes his teeth. Atsumu grins, dumb with white foam dripping down from his mouth. Osamu kicks at his ankle but Atsumu dodges like he was expecting it.

“What was ya dreaming about? Yer humming in your sleep again, ‘Samu.” Atsumu leans down over the sink to spit, and Osamu is struck with the remnants of his dream.

Of black hair, sly lips, and a hooded gaze twinkling under lantern lights. A slow, breathless laugh playing against the shape of his ear, and long fingers washing...rice?

Osamu leans down and spits just as his stomach growls loudly.

“Mind yer business, ‘Tsumu.” Osamu pointedly ignores his brother’s indignant stuttering. “I’m gonna help kaa-san with breakfast.”

“Whatcha think about that kid they recruited? Suna.”

“Huh? What about him?”

“Nevermind.”

At sixteen and seventeen, Osamu doesn’t know what to do with the dreams, doesn’t know what to do with the static underneath his skin when Suna huffs a laugh at his jokes, doesn’t know what to do when he brings food for the team, and he always tries to make sure Suna gets the best piece, the warmest, the one filled up with Osamu’s everything.

He doesn’t know what to do when he catches himself staring at that charming piece of rice that always sticks to the bow of Suna’s clever mouth.

He doesn’t know what to do when those pale yellow eyes are looking right back at him.

“It’s good.” The other boys are fussing around the bag that Osamu has packed for them, and Osamu barely hears the words coming from beside him. Osamu blinks and turns, his eyebrows jumping up on his forehead when he sees the person beside him. Stomach warm and full, Osamu is helpless to the grin that blooms across his face. Suna doesn’t smile back, but his eyes widen the slightest bit and his chewing slows.

“Good?” Osamu isn’t really one to fish for compliments, but he wants to hear this again, wants to make sure he heard it right, wants to see the way Suna’s mouth shapes around the words because Suna has never said anything special about his cooking before, Suna has never done anything but stare with that hooded gaze of his as he said his thanks.

Inhaling softly, Suna swallows, those eyes leaving a blazing trail all over Osamu’s face. Osamu watches a tongue slip out of his mouth, hiding the brief flicker of his lips' tipped up corner as it catches the rice stuck there, and Osamu swallows around nothing.

“Yea. It’s good.”

Osamu hums.

“Yer such a messy eater.” Osamu snarks as the other boy draws closer. Suna smothers a laugh against his shoulder, peeking at the video Osamu is showing him on his phone. His smell rushes in, boyish and sweet, and Osamu exhales shakily, ignoring the gnawing hunger growing in the pit of his stomach.

“Yea, yea. Kaa-san always complains about it.”

Osamu is twenty when Suna asks him to cook for him the first time. His voice is soft in his ear, and Osamu can’t hear any nerves through the phone, but his own nerves makes him crush the rice ball between his hands.

“What?”

“My sister is coming over,” Suna murmurs, and Osamu hears a locker closing in the background, “Staying for a couple days while my parents stays behind in Hyogo for work. Need some tips.”

“Tips?” Osamu laughs when he hears the answering huff, placing the ruined ball to the side for his brother later. “Ya think I’m going to go to Tokyo just to give ya some tips? Read a cookbook.”

Osamu does not linger on the fact that he has already begun thinking about how he can take some time off for the trip, even though he should be planning for the meeting he has with some loan people the following week.

“You are my cookbook, Osamu.” Suna says in that droll way of his, where he doesn’t care how you react to his words because he’s already amused, but there’s something underneath the words, something hot and pressing that travels down Osamu’s spine.

Osamu crushes _another_ rice ball between his hands.

He stares down at the mess in his hands, wondering if this was one of those weird dreams again, where his skin buzzes, and Osamu can’t grasp what’s really happening besides black hair, a breath against his face, and pale skin beneath his fingertips.

“Thursday should be good, we only have afternoon practice on Friday.” Suna continues like Osamu has already agreed to come over. “I’ll buy your ticket, and you can just text me the list of ingredients. If you want specific brands, send me a picture.”

“What is this? Wait, I can’t-” Osamu doesn’t think he can take being in the same space of Suna for that long, not when these feelings have been stewing in his belly, marinating with no purpose.

“Aaaaand the ticket is bought. Atsumu said your meeting wasn’t until Monday.”

“You’ve been talking about me with my _brother?”_ Osamu deliberately controls the pitch of his voice, despite the fact that he’s vaguely embarrassed and definitely horrified. He knows he’s failed when Suna lets out a breathless laugh, low and soft, before a yell sounds out in the background. There’s the muffled sound of Suna covering up the mouth of his phone, even as the sound of his laugh is still rolling over Osamu like a shifting tide. Something thrilling travels up Osamu’s spine like it always does when they’re on the phone like this, and Suna’s voice feels like it seeps into his skin.

Suna comes back to the phone, and Osamu closes his eyes as they share a moment of silence, a couple of breaths between them. He savors it, the soft silence between them, keeping his mouth shut in case something embarrassing seeps out of his mouth.

Something like ‘I’m excited to see you.’ or ‘I wish you called more.’, or ‘I think of you in the moments between the last we spoke and the next time we’ll speak again.’

“What are you humming?” Suna asks softly, and Osamu opens his eyes. He reaches out to the timer in front of him and turns it until it dings loudly.

“Think ya may have just heard the microwave, sorry.” There’s another silence, but Osamu ignores the silent question. Suna clicks his tongue in a way that says he’s pouting, and Osamu grins.

“I’ll see you Thursday, okay?” Suna mutters, and Osamu nods despite the fact that he can't see it.

“Yeah. You’ll see me.”

“Yer fucking talking about me, ‘Tsumu?”

“Talking about you? Wait. Sunarin?

“Yea, ya dumbass! Mind yer fucking business, ya scrub.”

“Yer my business, dumbass! Enough with the pining ‘Samu. It’s embarrassing.”

“Pining?! I’m pining? Tell me again how many times did ya rewatch that Karasuno match?”

“Hah?! Wanna say that to my face?!”

“I don’t remember putting this on the list.” Osamu pulls out the beer with a snort, and Suna snatches it out of his hand with a deadpan stare that makes Osamu laugh harder.

“You didn’t.” Suna puts it in his fridge and, together, they finish taking out the groceries Suna bought at Osamu’s request. Suna’s place smells like him, and Osamu hates the way it tickles the nose pleasantly, reminding him where he is and what he is here to do.

“So what’s first?” Suna asks, chopping boards, pots, and knives ready for the lesson. Osamu inhales, gets a deep whiff of this man who he’s dreamed about since he was fifteen, and tries not to choke on his emotion.

“Curry.”

Osamu teaches him. With soft words and hesitate touches, Osamu talks and guides, and Suna follows his directions placidly. Suna looks comfortable in a kitchen for all that he claims he can't cook, and Osamu is hopelessly charmed by the way Suna is listening to him so intently. Osamu tries to reign control of his emotions, wild and hungry, and he pays attention to how Suna is doing with the instruction. Osamu watches how Suna handles the knife comfortably, he watches the way Suna is cutting the vegetables and how the vegetables are all evenly cut and neat. With a sudden realization, Osamu is feeling a little played.

Suna dumps the onions in the oil and turns to Osamu with an eyebrow quirked, waiting for the next instruction. Osamu gives a deadpan stare back, and Suna’s lips split in a grin full of teeth just before his cackling laugh fills the kitchen. It’s loud and beautiful, and Osamu needs to do something before he embarrasses himself further.

“Ha ha ha.” Osamu mutters, snatching a beer out the fridge to cover up the hot flush breaking out across his face at the sound of Suna’s laugh.

“You were so earnest!"

"Obviously! I thought ya didn't know how to feed yerself! Had me worried for nothing, thinking you were still surviving off those dumb konbini onigiri ." Osamu grumbles around the lip of his beer, embarrassed and flustered. There's a hiccup in the cackles, and Osamu turns, but Suna's attention is on the pan of onions cooking down in front of him. Osamu breath catches in his throat regardless. 

There's a smile on his face, small and soft. Osamu knows he's staring, but Osamu feels like his insides are made of syrup, and his mouth is going to pour out something sticky and sickeningly sweet. His emotions are a thick mess, and he forces himself to look away and swallow them down with the beer. The beer goes down bitter with a twinge of an aftertaste that Osamu has been tasting since he was young. 

"Worried about me, Osamu?" The way Suna says his name is different, but Osamu can't put his finger on how. It leaves Osamu with his heart thumping in his ears, and his fingers tighten their hold around the can in his hand. He sets the can down on the counter and chances another look at Suna. He's not prepared for what he sees. 

Suna is looking at him, eyes bright under the light of the kitchen with something familiar to Osamu. Suna, eyes hooded with a spatula in hand, is staring at Osamu like...like he's hungry. The hair on Osamu's nape rises.

"If you're so worried, why don't you cook for me?" The question is asking something else, a message specifically for Osamu, and Osamu, with his syrupy emotions, tongue burning with the taste of yearning, and kaleidoscope bubbles bursting in his stomach, answers.

"Thought you'd never ask." 

Osamu cooks with adrenaline burning fiery paths in his veins, and he thinks this is the most excited he's ever been cooking. Cooking, food, it's always been everything to him, but cooking for Suna is...it makes him think of that first time with his mother, hands sticky with water, salt, and rice. Of the way the rice and salted salmon tasted on his tongue. Of the way his mother had smiled down at him. Of cooking with his brother in the kitchen because his father burned their food and Osamu has come up with new things from the scrapes. It makes Osamu thinks of the first time he saw Suna, with his clever mouth and that stray piece of rice, dreaming again and again the same kind of dream. 

Surrounded by the smell of cooking food and that same scent that has clung to Suna all these years, Osamu is warm and full. 

Osamu turns, finished plate in hand, and Suna is already looking at him, the corner of his mouth tipped, and his eyes gleaming with a desire that Osamu feels in the marrow of his bones. 

Osamu is twenty when he is ready for the taste of Suna to mix with the love that has been marinating on his tongue.

“Rintaro.” Suna looks up, eyes wide with the use of his name. Osamu reaches out, thumb swiping away at the rice clinging to that thin mouth. Osamu cups his face, and tugs him close. Close enough to feel Suna’s breath against his face, close enough to see the way his eyes widen then flutter, eyelashes nearly brushing against his cheeks.

His clever, red lips part, and Osamu feels the words against his thumb.

“Did...Did you get it?” He whispers in the space between them, pale yellow eyes trained on Osamu’s mouth. Osamu closes that space eagerly, a smile blooming helplessly. 

“Yea,” He whispers against his mouth. “I got it.”

“Did you get rice in my hair? Ugh.” Osama hums, mouth tingling and his yearning satiated.

“Shut yer mouth.”

**Author's Note:**

> i ......spent a month on this and i only have like 2k to show for it but i can't touch this anymore it's too much. let me know whatcha think guys! definitely stepping out my comfort zone with this one. i apologize for any grammar or spelling mistakes yall find! ima do my reread thing, so you may notice small edits as i obsessively read this


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